


White Lilies

by WingedFlight



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Asexual Character, Gen, Remix, magic dreams, secret baby becomes magic baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26723425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingedFlight/pseuds/WingedFlight
Summary: White lilies and bright sunlight and the sweetest water she’s ever tastedand, beneath it all, an insatiable longing and a terrible loss.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 19
Collections: Remix Revival 2020





	White Lilies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nasimwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasimwrites/gifts).
  * Inspired by [To Narnian Ground](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21645307) by [nasimwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasimwrites/pseuds/nasimwrites). 



> “There were no physicians here, no medicines to dull the pain, no midwives to offer council. Only the Four Kings and Queens, under the light of the evening stars, and the chant Susan had nearly succeeded in forgetting. She held her sister with steady hands, and sang and whispered, and Lucy pushed, eyes wide open, as if she saw something in the sky that none of them could see.”  
> \- To Narnian Ground, by nasimwrites

* * *

_White lilies and bright sunlight and the sweetest water she’s ever tasted_ _  
__and, beneath it all, an insatiable longing…_

* * *

When Neoma woke, she was crying.

It was early morning, the first flush of dawn just beginning to paint the sky. She was alone, as usual, though she could just hear the soft snuffling of the bear who stood guard outside her door. She wasn’t exactly sure why she’d been crying; already, the dream was fading, leaving only a vague sense of loss. 

She wiped her cheeks on her pillowcase and then, rolling over, kicked away the tangle of bedsheets and reached to her nightstand. She’d left the book splayed open, a bad habit that would result in a scolding from the librarian if he noticed the cracked spine. Neoma scooped up the volume, holding a finger between the pages to mark her place, and crossed to the window. Soon enough, she knew, there would be knocking at her door and the never-ending flurry of the day would begin. But until then, she could steal this moment for herself. 

The book was a collection of poetry surrounding Caspian the Explorer. Of all her great and noble ancestors, Caspian the Tenth had always been Neoma’s favourite. He’d brought about the end of the Telmarine Age, liberated the oppressed Narnians, sailed to the very end of the world--and as a reward, had lost almost everyone dear to him.

Maybe that was why the ocean always made her feel so wistful. Like a sort of inherited memory that had drifted down the seven generations from Caspian. 

_...Ocean._ Had she been dreaming about an ocean? 

Ignoring that inexplicable sense of loss that threatened to well up within her again, Neoma opened the book and began to read by the light of the dawn. 

* * *

It had been six years since she’d taken the throne of Narnia. Six years of daily routines, regular council meetings, arranged diplomatic visits. Six years of schedules and proclamations. Even the crises often seemed to follow a predetermined set of rules: talk with so-and-so, sign this-and-that, send such-and-so-on over there. As a child, reading the histories of her country, Neoma had thought becoming Queen would be a grand adventure. She’d certainly not realized how much bureaucracy was involved, how positively boring the day to day could become. 

“Not that I’m bored, exactly,” she added hastily, casting a glance to her companion. She didn’t want it to seem that she was complaining. “At the least, I’m usually too busy to be bored.” 

If she wanted sympathy, Walder did not oblige. They were in the orchard together, she on a bench and he beneath a tree. The man had been rolling an apple between his palms but, when she paused, Walder tossed the fruit at her head. “Don’t act like you don’t love it.” 

She caught the apple easily and flung it back at him. “Fine, I love it. But I do sort of wish--I don’t know. Something. All the best kings and queens got adventures and quests and the like. I guess I always thought I’d get a quest of my own, one day.” 

A look came into his eyes as she said this, but Walder ducked his head before she could interpret what it meant. He was rolling the apple between his hands again. “Don’t you think,” he said, sounding more tentative than she’d ever heard him before, “there might be… I don’t know… other sorts of adventures to be found? Not grand quests but… but maybe… I mean, they often say it’s an adventure to choose to live your life with another?” 

“Sure,” she said, a little puzzled. “I suppose you could consider friendship an adventure but--” And then, all at once, Neoma realized what he meant. Her face flushed. “Oh. Oh!” 

Now he looked up, meeting her gaze with incredible seriousness. “I don’t mean to--I mean, I’m not--” 

“Oh good,” she said in a rush. She saw his flinch and winced in response. “Oh, not like that! I just--oh dear.”

Utterly embarrassed, she leapt up and covered her face. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “Just give me a moment.” And without even waiting for Walder’s response, Neoma fled. 

She didn’t go far. The orchard was bordered by a gentle stone wall overlooking the harbour. Neoma stopped there, leaning forward to rest her arms against the stone so she might gaze over the masts and sails at the glittering ocean beyond. It was a beautiful day, the sky full of sun and seagulls. 

Watching the ocean, she thought again of her dream. There’d been more to it than loss, she recalled. There’d also been longing--a deep, burning sort of need--something she’d certainly never felt before in real waking life. Maybe that was why she’d cried: a knowledge that this near-physical longing was something she’d never feel outside of a dream? 

But that wasn’t right. She wasn’t sad to miss that feeling. That had not been the source of loss. 

How long she stood at the wall, pondering this, Neoma did not know. Too long, likely. She’d meant to take a short break in the orchard with Walder, not tarry the afternoon away. But now, she wouldn’t be able to focus on her paperwork even if she returned to her study. Better to stay here, watching the ocean and berating herself for not seeing what was happening right in front of her. 

She didn’t really know that she was waiting for him until Walder joined her again. He was slow, his every movement a question as he approached the wall. She could have told him to go away. Instead, Neoma said, “I heard a fairy tale once of a queen who married the sea. I always liked that one.” 

“It’s certainly romantic.” 

It was, but she didn’t think that was why she’d liked it. “There were no expectations to their marriage. The sea was wild and roamed far, and the queen was bound to her country. But they suited each other well and were partners in many ways.” She breathed in deep. “I have thought about it.” 

“Marriage to the sea?”

“Marriage in general.” She bit her lip, refusing to look at him. “Except I don’t love people that way.”

Though Galman by birth, Walder had lived long enough in Narnia to understand. “That’s not how Aslan made you.”

Still, she felt the need to explain, to ensure he understood. “It’s not that I don’t want children.”

“You just don’t want to do it,” he said, and now there was a hint of a grin in his voice. 

She was blushing furiously again. “Exactly,” she said firmly, trying not to let on her embarrassment. “Very likely, I’ll adopt an heir one day. Possibly one of those distant, several-times-removed cousins I’ve got floating about. I think I’d like that.” And then, only then, did Neoma let her hand drift to the side to cover Walder’s. “But I do not think marriage will ever be for me.” 

* * *

This was a decision she’d made for herself long ago, when Neoma was first beginning to understand who she was. She had no desire for a consort, no need for a mate. She was a strong Queen in her own right who had done very well ruling Narnia on her own thus far, thank you very much. The only reason she’d never blatantly stated her intentions to avoid marriage and child-making was because of the uproar she’d hear from counsellors who were all a little too concerned with preserving the royal bloodline. 

“Maybe that was why I felt sad,” she mused that night, when her attendants had all withdrawn from her chambers and she stood alone at the window. Maybe a part of her had been mourning the end of the bloodline that reached unbroken all the way back to Caspian the Explorer. The thought of their line ending had always saddened her a little, though not enough to change who she was. 

Her book was still on the window seat. She picked it up and flipped through it idly, pausing at a page illustrating the reunion of Caspian and his son in the Paravel harbour. Neoma studied it a little, and then turned the pages slowly towards the front until she came upon another image: Caspian’s ship, the great Dawn Treader, cutting through a sea of pearl-white flowers. 

“Well, that explains the lilies,” she laughed, feeling a little better. She let the book fall closed and retired to her bed, her mind finally at ease. 

When she closed her eyes, Neoma dreamed again of the lilies. But this time, there was more to the dream.

* * *

 _White lilies and bright sunlight and the sweetest water she’s ever tasted_ _  
__and, beneath it all, an insatiable longing and a terrible loss._ _  
__A girl’s face, sad but resolute, with loose golden hair_ _  
__streaming in the sea breeze..._

* * *

“She was looking at me,” said Neoma when she awoke. 

The hour was dreadfully early. Her room was still dark, and she could hear the songs of the night birds outside her window. Truthfully, it was not yet morning at all. But Neoma felt like she’d been struck by a blinding light, like her dream had been more than a dream. It was imperative she did not let herself forget it. 

The moon was enough to light her path to the door. Brumbly blinked at her as she emerged into the outer chamber. “Everything alright, ma’am?” the bear asked. 

“I’m fine,” she told him, though she was sure his animal ears could hear the rapid beating of her heart. Neoma padded barefoot to her desk, lit a candle, located a blank parchment. Not even taking the time to sit down, she began to write.

Brumbly waited, quiet and steadfast. 

At last, Neoma set down the quill. “I don’t think I have much time,” she said, turning back to her guard. “I don’t think I can even wait for morning.” 

The bear did not question this, even though he couldn’t have any idea what she was speaking of. Instead, he asked, “What can I do, Your Majesty?” 

“I need my horse saddled,” she told him, trusting the bear to pass the instructions along when she returned to her room to dress, “And supplies for a trip. And the fastest riders. And--” She paused, remembering the steady understanding of her closest companion. “And I’ll need Walder, as well.”

* * *

“When you said you wanted a quest,” said Walder, meeting his queen outside the stable, “I didn’t expect you to wake me up with one before even a day had passed.” 

The night air was cold. Neoma pulled on her riding gloves as she strode toward her mare. Saddled and supplied, the horse was ready for the long trip. Her other companions were in the courtyard as well: Amabala the cheetah and Jewel the unicorn, both swift and valiant guards. 

She set a foot in the stirrup and swung herself easily into the saddle. “You know me, Walder. If I decide upon a course of action, no one can stop me.” 

“And Aslan help anyone who tries,” he added. There was amusement in his voice. Neoma looked over and saw the crinkle around his eyes. He gave her a nod, and she knew he was saying more than _I’m ready_ or _Let’s go._ He was saying he trusted her, that he would follow where she led, that he would continue to support her no matter the decisions she made. 

That he would follow and support her though she did not want to marry him. 

She returned his nod with a quick smile and then guided her mare towards the gate. The stars wheeled overhead as they passed through the castle walls and down into the city. There was no time to waste, Neoma knew in her heart. She had a country to cross, with something waiting for her at journey’s end.

* * *

The stars faded and the sun rose and the city shrank until it disappeared behind the horizon. The hoofbeats of the horses and the unicorn drummed a staccato rhythm that matched the tempo of her heart. The dream itself had slipped away under the flurry of preparing to leave--thank Aslan she had written the important bits down--but the urgency remained, pounding beneath her skin. 

The cheetah had surged ahead, scouting the road for potential dangers. Several times throughout the day, she circled back to provide her reports. Narnia was in peacetime and so it was little surprise that there were no troubles to encounter, nothing to slow their pace.

As the afternoon wore on, Neoma tried to explain to Walder about the dream. It was no use. The images that remained were fragmented and nonsensical. “It was at the end of the world,” she told him, “I saw the Queen Lucy and my ancestor, Caspian the Explorer. There were lilies… and trees…” 

“None of the stories mention trees at the ocean’s end.” 

“The trees were somewhere else.” Why could she not remember? The parchment was rolled up in her saddlebag and she yearned to stop and pull it out, to read what she’d written by candlelight. But that would take time she did not have, even if she didn’t recall why she rode like the wind across her country. 

Gradually, the afternoon became evening became night and the horses were spent. They made camp at the roadside, with the unicorn taking first watch. As the campfire flared to life beneath Walder’s patient guidance, Neoma retrieved her parchment and read the lines she’d written in hasty black strokes.

They made no sense.

The words were near meaningless. In scrambling to write down the memories of her dream, she’d captured disjointed images and emotions and failed to convey the connecting lines beneath it all. The parchment held no more answers than she did. 

Her face flushed hot with embarrassment. She’d been acting so assured, so confident, and she didn’t even know why. She’d thought she’d carried the answers in her bag, and yet she had nothing at all. Nothing but an inexplicable pull to the west and the trembling certainty that time was short. 

What if she was wrong? What if there was nothing waiting for her arrival? What if the dream was nothing more than a dream? 

* * *

But when Neoma woke in the morning, the message of the lilies and trees was fresh again in her mind and she knew she was not mistaken. She would continue to ride. She would find what waited for her in the forests of Western Narnia.

* * *

 _White lilies and bright sunlight and the sweetest water she’s ever tasted_ _  
__and, beneath it all, an insatiable longing and a terrible loss._ _  
__A girl’s face, sad but resolute, with loose golden hair_ _  
__streaming in the sea breeze, one hand on her belly._ _  
__“It’s happening,” she whispers to sentinel trees,_ _  
__a contraction wracking her body..._

* * *

“It’s happening,” echoed Neoma as she sat up from her bedroll. 

Every night, the dreams had grown more vivid and Neoma had become increasingly certain that time was growing short. How she knew where to go, Neoma could not explain. She knew that frustrated Walder, but Amabala was accustomed to following _instinct_ and Jewel was, by his nature, accustomed to _magic._ All Neoma could do was ride west with all speed and trust she would arrive in time. 

Except now it was happening, whatever it was, and she was not yet there. 

The cheetah had been standing guard over the camp. She leapt quick and quiet over Walder’s sleeping form to approach Neoma’s side. “How far is it?” 

How far? She didn’t know, she couldn’t say. “We’re almost there,” she whispered. “But it’s starting already, I can feel it.” 

“Climb on my back,” said Amabala. “I will take you.” 

But from across the camp came a calm, “No.” Gleaming silver as water-lilies in the moonlight, the unicorn stepped toward her. “I will take you.” 

She’d known that a unicorn’s magic allowed him to run faster even than a cheetah, though it was almost unheard of for one to carry a rider. The offer was an unbelievable honour, but one she had no time to dwell on. “Thank you, friend,” she told him, and hastened onto his back. 

There was no time to bid farewell to the cheetah, nor even to wake Walder. Barely had she settled upon the unicorn than he sprang forward into the dark and whispery trees ahead. 

* * *

The instincts and magic of her dream pulled Neoma forward. She didn’t even need to tell the unicorn where to go; Jewel sensed the shifts in her posture and adjusted course as needed. The trees whipped past in a blur, the wind tearing at Neoma’s face. Somehow, miraculously, she was struck by no branches. 

And then ahead--a tiny yellow gleam among the trees. The unicorn slowed to cautiously enter the clearing. It was empty, save for an odd metal tree with a lantern burning at its peak. “We’re here,” breathed Neoma, sliding from the unicorn’s back. She let her fingers brush against the metal pole and then looked to the trees beyond. “From here, I go alone.” 

The unicorn bowed his head. Neoma strode into the trees with the lantern light at her back. 

* * *

Here, the trees grew close and she had to shove aside the branches. Now, the pine needles scratched at her skin, marked her face. She was almost there and it was still happening, and she was not too late--

And then the trees ended. Neoma fell into another clearing, smaller than the last but lit as though by the sun itself. She had to shield her eyes as she approached, and gradually the light resolved itself into the form of a door.

There was a girl on the other side. She was clad in a simple dress that barely fell to her knees. Her feet were bare. Her golden hair hung loose about her shoulders. Neoma recognized her, of course. 

“It’s you. From my dream.” 

But if the girl heard her, she did not reply. She was looking down to the boy at her side: an infant with golden hair to match the girl’s. Her child, the one Neoma had seen birthed in the dream. 

The girl looked up. She was not crying, despite everything. Neoma didn’t know how she could be so strong. Knowing what was to come, feeling again that heartbreaking loss on the girl’s behalf, Neoma’s own cheeks were damp.

“Take care of him for me,” the girl said. 

And Neoma replied, “As if he were my own.” 

The boy toddled forward toward the door, chubby hands waving at the lights as he passed through that magical arch. He squealed as he stepped onto Narnian grass, as if he knew full well he had passed into a different world. Then he tripped on a stone, toppled forward, and Neoma was scooping him up before he could hit the ground. 

When she looked up again, the door was already closing. The girl stood in place, still without tears though her grief shone from her eyes. And in the last moment before the door was gone entirely, Neoma saw movement from behind the girl: three other figures drawing forth from the wood. 

And then the door was gone. Neoma was alone with a magical babe in her arms. 

* * *

“Where have you been?” cried Walder as she returned at last to the camp, once again astride the unicorn. “Is that a child? Where did you find him? What have you been up to?” 

And very calmly, with not a hint of the tears that had freely flowed from her eyes as she’d left the clearing behind, Neoma told him, “His name is Tirian and he is my heir, a true heir to Caspian’s line.”

* * *

 _White lilies and bright sunlight and the sweetest water she’s ever tasted_ _  
__and, beneath it all, longing and loss and a mother’s unending love._

* * *


End file.
